Yu Jianguo, head bowed, earnestly tried to thread a thin cotton thread through the eye of an embroidery needle. The thread was a bit loose, and he couldn't get it through on the first try. He put the thread end in his mouth and licked it, making it thin and pointed, and tried again. This time, probably because the thread end had become soft and thin after being moistened, it passed by the eye of the needle, and he failed again.
Yu Jianguo picked up the scissors on the table, snipped off the soft, pointed end of the thread, and then carefully continued to thread the needle. This time, the thread went through the eye smoothly. He immediately pinched it with two fingers, and the thread was pulled out long from the other end of the needle eye. He also let out a long sigh of relief.
He felt his eyesight was much worse than before. What would have been a matter of a second in the past was now taking so long and complicated. Fortunately, the guards didn't rush him, which was very different from when he was in prison more than ten years ago. Back then, if you were even slightly slow, you would be accused of slacking off and would inevitably get a scolding. If you slowed down your group's progress and made everyone work overtime, you would get beaten when you got back.
The conditions in prisons today are far better than in the past. Management is stricter, but labor and living conditions are much more humane. People go to work and eat on time every day. They have pickled vegetables and steamed buns in the morning, meat at noon, and vegetables in the evening, with unlimited portions. Although there are still cell bosses and bullies who still bully the weak, they don't beat people up as easily as they used to.
Yu Jianguo was convicted of trafficking in human organs, intentional injury, fraud, and theft and desecration of corpses. The sentences were combined, and given his prior criminal record, the sentence was quite heavy. He knew that at his age, he would never be released. But it was probably for the best; he didn't know what he would do if he were released, and he couldn't very well continue dealing with human and organ traffickers.
After threading the needle, he picked up a garment from the basket beside him and began sewing buttons. It was the simplest task, but doing it well was not easy. The buttons had to be sewn straight; crooked wouldn't do, and they couldn't be too tight or too loose. They had to be secure yet comfortable to fasten. Furthermore, the placement of the stitches was crucial. Not only did the cross or grid stitches on the front of the button have to be even and neat, but when the garment was turned inside out, the stitches on the back of the button also had to be perfectly aligned, with each stitch overlapping the others. For every few holes on the button, there had to be a similar number of holes on the back; otherwise, it wouldn't look good and would be considered substandard.
Yu Jianguo had been doing this job for a while. Not to mention newcomers to prison, even veterans who had served a year or two were far less skilled at needlework than him. This was partly because he had served three years in prison, and partly because he had worked as an apprentice in a tailor shop in the city when he was young.
He was very poor when he was a child. So poor that no one in the village had eaten a single grain of rice in their pots for half a year. They even stripped the bark off the elm trees at the village entrance to cook and eat. He started begging with the village elders when he was very young. Normally, begging is the most shameful thing to do. If you can survive, who would want to beg? But in those days, they were among the first people to open their eyes to the world.
Yu Jianguo was uneducated and young at the time, so he didn't understand what reform and opening up or the Third Plenary Session of the 11th CPC Central Committee meant. However, the earth-shaking changes taking place across the country, from cities to rural areas, shocked him. He saw chimneys suddenly rising everywhere in the vast countryside, streets of cities suddenly filled with vendors of all sizes, and people dressed in coarse cloth suddenly dressed in Huahua clothes.
As a group of beggars sat outside the train station, fiercely debating whether to take the train or walk home, the youngest beggar uttered something both disheartening and inspiring:
"I'm not going back at all. I'll work, earn some money, and then go back. What kind of ambition is it to go back just to beg for food!"
Because of his words, the group argued all night at the station. The next morning, the sunlight shone on their tired faces, warm and comforting, like a mother's embrace. Homesickness overcame the wanderer's determination to make the world their home, and the group set off on foot, carrying their worn-out bags. Only the stubborn Yu Jianguo and his long shadow stood alone in the morning sun in the station square.
"The kid's not that old, but he's got a big temper!"
These were their words before they left, along with half a pancake and seven cents for Yu Jianguo.
Yu Jianguo decided he would never be a beggar again. So, after wandering around for three days on half a pancake and seven cents, he became an apprentice at a tailor shop.
When apprentices first started out, they had little to do with actual tailoring work. They usually assisted their masters and senior apprentices with odd jobs, mostly helping with housework, grocery shopping, cooking, and childcare. Cutting fabric and making patterns were things that apprentices weren't given the opportunity to do. Back then, sewing machines were quite expensive, so they weren't even allowed to touch them. The master would occasionally teach them a few tricks for handling fabric scraps, which was considered instruction, though there was also a element of testing involved. The skill they did most often and became most proficient at was sewing buttons.
Yu Jianguo recalls that back then, there were far more styles of buttons than there are now, with all sorts of materials and patterns—it was impossible to take it all in. Sometimes, when customers came to order clothes, they would choose buttons before even discussing the style of the garment.
Yu Jianguo was good at sewing buttons, and he worked his way up from an apprentice. However, by then, he had lost interest in tailoring and instead started doing hardware business with a material supplier who often ordered clothes from him.
The buttons in the prison were very uniform, of course, for the sake of standardized management, since none of them were professionals at it. This kind of work was too easy for Yu Jianguo; he could sew them almost perfectly even with his eyes closed. As he sewed, he couldn't help but miss the past, miss that little tailor shop, and miss those Huahua and varied fancy buttons.
" Yu Jianguo!"
The guard's sudden shout startled Yu Jianguo. He thought he had been too slow in threading the needle, or that his mind had been wandering and he had been caught. Instinctively, he straightened up and replied, "Reporting to the government," before staring blankly as he awaited further instructions.
The warden nodded. "Someone's coming to see you; they're treating you to a family meal."
"Family Meal?"
Yu Jianguo wondered if he had misheard. He had no relatives or friends, and this wasn't his first time in prison. The last time, at least a younger man named Zhao Pengcheng had come to visit him. This time, even Zhao Pengcheng was in jail, leaving him truly all alone. Who would come to see him now?
He had never eaten a "family meal," only heard that it was expensive and allowed him to meet with inmates outside of visiting hours and enjoy a "sumptuous" lunch together in a special cell, without having to shout through that damned glass.
Yu Jianguo couldn't imagine who would invite him to a family meal. He didn't believe in free lunches; it all smelled like a conspiracy. But what kind of conspiracy could target a penniless convict like him? He had nothing to lose and nothing to fear; he figured things couldn't get any worse than they were now.
Amidst the envious glances of his fellow inmates, Yu Jianguo followed another prison guard who had come to pick him up.
He entered the mysterious private dining room. On the rectangular table were several side dishes with meat and vegetables, as well as a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) that had already been opened.
Across from me sat a young man with messy hair, as if scratched by chicken claws; he wore a faded gray overcoat that looked even older than their prison uniforms; looking under the table, you could see him with his legs crossed and wearing slippers.
As Yu Jianguo approached, the man smiled at him, then lowered his legs from under the table with a thud. For some reason, the thud felt like an invisible hammer, striking Yu Jianguo's chest heavily.